Without You, I'm Nothing (1990)
This remarkable tour-de-force from
pop culture iconoclast Sandra Bernhard is the perfect
vehicle for her talents. Spawned from her successful
one-woman- show which ran in New York off-Broadway,
Bernhard even makes light of this connection referring
to the aforementioned show several times throughout
the film. In between her clever, irreverent monologues
which seem spontaneous and contrived at the same time,
Bernhard performs some wonderful songs which oft times
have her coming across as the best lounge act you've
never seen. Tying all these elements together are
silly, almost pointless vignettes with a fictitious
manager (Lu Leonard) and actor Steve Antin of "The
Accused" who skewers his own stardom almost as much
as he does Bernhard's.
After an odd credits sequence which
has a 1700's looking man playing a harpsichord piece
segueing into a contemporary black woman playing the
same piece on piano, the film finds Bernhard sitting
in front of a mirror at a make-up table and clipping
her hair's ends needlessly. Bernhard says "I'm so
glad you can see how truly beautiful I am right now,"
before we get a short documentary style interview
piece with her manager. Then, the film really begins
and Bernhard belts out her first tune. Oddly, it is
the only song in the film she doesn't break from singing
to do a spoken-word monologue within. The song is
a wonderful character study by Nina Simone called
"Four Women." Bernhard sings it dressed in a huge
watermelon-shaped dress that is as much a parody of
a native African-American dress as it is one in actuality.
Even though Bernhard camps throughout, or maybe simply
because of this, her version of the song is gorgeous.
When she finishes the tune, at an odd place, with
mock vibrato, she waits smilingly, anticipating thunderous
applause which never come. This idea is played shamelessly
throughout the film to remind all of us fans how unappreciated
Bernhard is and also to remind us just how many people
don't get her schtick. Throughout the film, a primarily
African- American audience watches the show with little
interest in the proceedings. They talk amongst themselves,
order drinks, and get up and walk about hardly noticing
that anyone is on stage.
Next, an entertainer named Shoshanna
(Denise Vlasis) is introduced and she turns out to
be nothing more than a common stripper who wants to
be a Madonna clone. Since Bernhard was seen several
times with Madonna around the time of the film's release
and the two enjoyed a rumor which purported them as
lovers, one assumes "The Platinum One" would enjoy
this joke. It isn't really amusing to anyone else.
The film's longest monologue comes
next as Bernhard discusses her Jewish upbringing and
her gentile fantasies during childhood. Even Barbra
Streisand is included. There is ample humor here for
those of us who enjoy Bernhard's personality including
the classic line: "My father's a proctologist, my
mother's an abstract expressionist - This is how I
view the world."
The film is odd in the way it endlessly
juxtaposes Bernhard against the African-American experience
and existence in America. Several connecting piece
do this visually and Bernhard herself calls attention
to it with her characters and music. The next monologue
finds her imitating a black lounge singer and shouting,
"Bring me a Remmy Martin with a water back, Goddammit."
She then mentions the "Parisian Room," the oft mentioned
establishment in the film which seems to spoof the
clubs that lounge acts play, before delving smoothly
into a slow, sultry, jazzy cover of Billy Paul's #1
hit from 1972, "Me and Mrs. Jones." Of course the
song takes on a whole new meaning with a female singer
and Bernhard exploits this further with a short spoken
passage. Still, as the film progresses, one is amazed
at Bernhard's vocalizations. Days after watching the
film, one still recalls her interpretations of the
songs included here and longs to hear her sing them
again.
Bernhard shifts gears once again
with the next segment. In it she steps back into her
humor mode to skewer her teenage dreams of living,
working and dating by recalling the late 60's and
early 70's with numerous references to products (often
with advertising tag-lines in-tow) played against
a backdrop of Burt Bacharach and Hal David tunes.
But, as is her wont, Bernhard can't
leave the subject of homosexuality out of her act
for long and the next to pieces make references to
it. The first finds a camera circling the star as
she delivers a on-target story about a visit to a
gay bar in 1978 by a unsuspecting straight guy. As
the piece reaches a crescendo, Sylvester's "You Make
Me Feel (Mighty Real)" is used to excellent effect.
Bernhard ends the piece with a reference to Andy Warhol's
clique and so we find it no surprise when her next
piece in the set plays as an homage to the man whom
Bernhard knew personally and the world knew only as
the maven of pop culture. Apparently Bernhard knew
no more than anyone else about the elusive artist
because her talk of the auction of Warhol's estate
("A massive array of everything") after his death
turns into an homage to his indelible impression upon
our modern existence. Bernhard uses this oration as
an introduction to a moody and melancholy cover of
Hank Williams' "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry." Joined
on stage by John Doe (of the rock band X), the duet
eventually shifts into "On Broadway" before finally
wrapping up.
Much of the discussions Antin interjects
are about Bernhard's relationship with the fictional
Joe Baumgarten. A hairdresser to Jodie Foster and
several models, Joe is said to be very self-absorbed
so it comes as little surprise when Antin tells us
the two have broken up. When we finally see Bernhard
dream about him, we are surprised that he is black
(which is precisely the point). Bernhard sips a drink
shakily before launching into Laura Nyro's "I Never
Meant to Hurt You." Although she sings the song beautifully
and honestly, her bitterness shows through hilariously
in the song's Phillipic where she again mentions Madonna
by telling her ex to "fuck the bitch" before adding
the hysterical line "And while you're at it - fuck
Martika." Of course, since Martika is now long forgotten
(what was her hit song?), the joke has lost some impact
over time.
The songs, the humor and the sarcasm
just keep coming as the film goes along. The next
bit finds Bernhard aping Diana Ross while singing
"Ain't No Mountain High Enough" (Ross' first #1 after
going solo) while telling a story about an intimate
evening with Warren Beatty without mentioning his
name. Since this is pre-Annette Benning, a humorous
point about safe sex is included. The film's climax,
in a way, is Bernhard's wonderful beat-poem about
the beat of life itself. Patti Smith and Cher are
mentioned as well as several beat-generation writers
before the piece segues into a cover of Sylvester's
"Do You Wanna Funk." Bernhard is at her best here
dressed in a ridiculous pantsuit and wonderfully photographed
by director John Boskovich.
The film ends with an odd sequence
which finds Bernhard wrapped in the American flag
and delivering her closing soliloquy before going
into a slow, ballad-like cover of Prince's "Little
Red Corvette." This scene finally punctuates what
Bernhard has been saying all along: That she should
be the center of attention. Oddly, the scene soon
drifts into the actual song by Prince and Bernhard
throws off the flag to reveal her final costume: two
strategically placed tassels and a patriotic g-string
that must have required a truckload of bikini wax
to wear. She bumps and grinds like a two-dollar stripper
for way too long before exiting into a overwhelming
amount of white light.
Bernhard is at her best throughout
"Without You, I'm Nothing" because she is on her own
turf. She makes us believe that her post-modern kitsch
monologues are humorous and interesting. She taps
into the pop culture ideas that are at the very root
of our American psyche because Bernhard is the living
embodiment of a country and a pop culture gone completely
wild. She pays homage to pop icons by mocking them
and pointing out their importance to our very being.
She further points out the very basis of our existence
and psyche by ending the cerebral experience of watching
the film on a decidedly smutty note.
"Without You, I'm Nothing" is a
marvelous piece by one of America's most interesting
and important performers. Those who never have liked
Bernhard will react with disgust (or at best, disinterest)
to what they get here - but those of us in the know
will revel in this marvelous, magical show again and
again.
Note:
Executive Producer is director Nicolas
Roeg.
Original music and arrangements
are by Patrice Rushen but that isn't her in the film.
In fact, all of the on-screen musicians are different
from the ones used on the soundtrack.
Costume Designer is Raymond Lee.
Bernhard mentions Warhol a few times
in the monologues she does.
Viewed on VHS in 1994.
